SgtBrowncoat

Nothing new here for some of you, but I thought I would post my old Dark Eldar army fluff.

Dracon Kharax of the Kabal of Sibilant whispers marched into the entry passage of the palace his Kabal
called home. It was nothing too fancy, but decadent enough to be tolerated by the finicky tastes of his people.
Once again he returned with a successful raid behind him. Today was different, however. This raid had been
much more successful and with little attrition, he was still drunk with the agony of his victims. He was in a
perfect position to enact the plot he had prepared all these months.

The Kabal was losing members, it's leader, the Archon Zharel, was an ancient creature, and the Kabal was not
successful enough to sustain his immense thirst, or so it was said. His orders and tactics consequently
suffered. Kharax expected little difficulty swaying any warriors that weren't already behind him, now
that he had so many prizes and the promise of success to offer.

Kharaz entered the throne room of the once great Archon, Kharax still remembered his superior when he had taken
his position of power, a quick, nearly bloodless coup the likes of which were uncommon and an example to be remembered. Now Zharel was a husk of what he once was, silent and still, and shrouded in the unnatural shadows around his throne. Other cultures and species would have long ago retired such a leader, with honors for his years of service, no doubt. A perfect example of why other races were beneath the Dark Eldar.

The creature couldn't even be bothered to speak much, relaying his orders through his trusted
Incubi Klaivex. Unfortunately for the Archon, that Klaivex accepted Kharax's proposal and was in on this coup. Zharel didn't even offer greeting or praise to his Dracon, who privately reminded himself
he required neither.

"A feast of souls, tonight!" Kharax spoke confidently, his voice echoing against the walls of the immense
room. He approached the throne, granted the additional proximity for his success. The room was almost empty, not unusual, but strange nevertheless. The Archon's Incubi and a few warrior servants were the only audience present. The Archon looked over at him, weak and pathetic, and again said nothing. Kharax looked at the Kabalites in the room, he knew this Klaivex would assist him in his rise to power,
and the few warriors present were also his supporters. This would be easy.
"I bring news of successful raids against the imperium of man, veterans of fine vintage." He advanced another few steps. He could hear the assembled Dark ones reveling in anticipation.
"And I bring warriors of chaos, twisted, dark souls for those who prefer a different flavor."
he advanced again, two steps. "But of greater interest, I offer the delicacy of Daemon slaves,
captured from the armies of the great enemy herself!" this great honor afforded him the closest proximity
allowed to his Archon in the throne room. He bowed deeply before the old creature, and gave silent nod to the nearby warriors, assembled specifically for this moment.

The Sybarite received the signal, and with the speed and grace expected of any Dark Eldar, revealed his agonizer and threw it to Kharax. Zharel's bodyguards flew into action, an armed Dracon in the throne room meant but one thing.

The mutinous warriors moved to Kharax's defense, allowing the traitor to focus on his his goal.
Taking the long, jagged blade, he rushed the throne, gathering as much
momentum as possible in order to puncture whatever defenses produced themselves. The Archon could only gasp, his eyes wide with the horror of his impending death. In an instant, it was over, and everything was quiet.

Kharax drank in the meager soul of his former master, and his senses sharpened. He looked at the pitiful husk. Still slightly delirious from the high of the escaping soul, he was still aware of certain unusual things.
Zharel was even more ragged than he had expected, and bore a deep, puss-filled wound on his forehead. Obviously lobotomised, the pathetic creature was an invalid. His lips were tightly sewn shut, and his wrists and ankles tightly bound to the throne.

"He is not the Archon..." Kharax whispered, the truth becoming clear. He was paralyzed with fear as
realization came. The strike came swiftly, a punisher severing his weapon hand. The next strike removing
the tendons behind his knee. kharax fell to his back, staring up at the Klaivex, who had removed his
helmet. The incubi master was familiar, a strong, well fed creature of palest white flesh and ancient intellect Kharax recognized now, he was face to face with the original founder of the Kabal of Sibilant whispers: Tenebrae, the silent blade.

"You believe any of us can truly hold power by sitting on a throne, waiting for some upstart to come
and send us forth to she who thirsts? Only the most arrogant would risk their final, terrible death by behaving like some Mon-Keigh lord. I expect that lesson will reveal itelf to you eventually, just as it did for Zharel before you." It was like seeing a ghost, Tenebrae was legend, and had centuries dead, or so it was believed. "We Welcome our new Archon!" Tenebrae stated sarcastically, an evil grin crossing his lips. "May he be more successful than the Zharel, and bring our Kabal of Sibilant Whispers the glory and wealth it deserves."

Kharaz spared a glace around the room, allied wyches and Mandrakes had appeared through secret passages and shadows to quickly capture or kill those who participated in the coup. Tenebrae spoke again A quiet hiss this time, only for the ears of his terrified new Archon. "A successful leader forgoes glory in favor of security, and never reveals himself to his enemies, don't you agree, Kharax?"

Without waiting for an answer, Tenebrae passed his prisoner to an eager pair of Haemonculi. "Prepare our
new Archon, will you, give him the honor he has worked so hard to achieve."